Early One Morning
by TheOnlyPersonLikeMe
Summary: The adventures of America and England...
1. Chapter 1

_"E-a-rly one mo-o-rning_

 _just as the sun was ri-i-sing,_

 _I heard a maiden call from the va-a-lley below;_

 _Oh, don't deceive me,_

 _Oh, never leave me,_

 _Ho-ow could you u-use a poor maiden so?"_

Alfred sat up, rubbing his eyes with his small fists. What was that?

"Hello?" he muttered, climbing out of bed.

The birds were tweeting, the sun's first rays pouring through the open window. It was to early for Alfred to be awake. Five more minutes.

Suddenly, he heard the same voice, repeating the same song.

He stopped. Why was the window open?

He straightened his nightgown, jogging towards the other end of the room.

"I-Iggy?" He gasped, sticking his head out of the window. He'd never seen Arthur, the person who had raised him, doing anything naughty before, let alone sitting on a windowsill, where he could easily fall, and hurt himself.

Arthur turned turned his head in surprise.

"Oh, you're awake," he yawned, "You're still refusing to say my name properly, aren't you?"

"Yup," Alfred swung his small legs over the windowsill, shuffling sideways until he was next to Arthur.

Silence. the only noises were the rustling of branches and the occasional bird's tune.

"I'm sorry I started a fight yesterday," Alfred murmured, staring down at his swinging feet.

"You're forgiven, wanker," Arthur said, "I just want you to be safe, that's all."

A wind picked up, ruffling Alfred's hair.

"What were you singing, England?"

"Oh, that? Just a song I made up, that's all."

"It was nice."

Arthur smiled.

"Big brother Scotland used to sing something familiar to me, but I never understood it; it was mainly in Gaelic. When I was trying to sleep as a child, he'd murmur lullabies to me and stroke my eyebrows," Arthur laughed softly, "it sounds funny but it was rather soothing, actually."

" _That's_ why they're so big," Alfred gasped, and grinned.

"It's still rather early," he murmured, "You should get some sleep, America."

"I'd rather listen to your singing, if you don't mind," he pleaded.

Arthur laughed and straightened the young boy's glasses.

"Maybe later."

Alfred reached out and touched each of Arthur's eyebrows, with his index finger and thumb. He traced the direction the eyebrows went in until his fingers reached Arthur's temples.

"That's what Scotland used to do, right?" he asked.

Arthur looked surprised for a second, and then ruffled Alfred's hair.

"I'm surprised you actually listened to me for once, America."

They stared out at the landscape before them for a while.

"America?"  
"What?"

"No matter what happens, I'll still love you, okay?"

Alfred looked up as Arthur slipped back inside, humming his song.

"Love you too, Iggy," he said quietly, his words snatched up by the wind.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading chapter one! There'll be more soon as it's the summer hol's now :3**_

 _ **This is my first (published) story that is more than one chapter, 'cuz I'm not very good when it comes to commitment XD**_


	2. Chapter 2

"I wish you'd never found me!" Alfred screamed at Arthur, "Can't you just make your mind up? You are always leaving, and I'm always left on my own!"

"America, please-" Arthur began, but Alfred had already bolted from the room, tears streaming down his face.

Alfred sprinted down the corridor, passing room after room. the large doors loomed over him, and he carried on until he saw a door with many kids doodled around the door frame. Alfred ran inside and slammed the door shut, throwing himself onto his bed.

"Stupid," he cursed into the empty room, "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

A draft of cold air ticked his face, and he realised his window was still open from that morning.

It was amazing, how that very morning he was unaware of the anger he'd feel later on. Everything had been so peaceful, and he had even learned new things about Arthur - an amazing feat, as Arthur never opened up.

He wanted it to be like that everyday; no distractions, no worries, no sudden meeting that Arthur had to attend to abroad - just them, in his country.

Footsteps.

He bolted to the door, pinning it shut.

"America?" Arthur called softly.

"No!"

"Please, I want to say goodbye-"

"Bog off!"

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the door, and then Alfred heard Arthur sit down, probably leaning against the door. Then, that sweet tune met his ears and he listened.

" _Early one morning,_

 _Just as the sun was rising,_

 _I heard a maiden call from the valley below;_

 _Oh, don't deceive me,_

 _Oh, never leave me-"_

 _"How could you use a poor maiden so?"_ Alfred finished, bitterness in his young voice.

Pause. "I'll come back soon, I promise."

"...What is the song about?"

"I don't have time for this Ameri-" Arthur sighed, "It's about a maiden and her lover. They were both very happy, but one day her lover disappeared without a trace. A-America, can I just come in?"

"You think singing will give you a VIP ticket?" Alfred scoffed. He could almost sense Arthur's flinch.

"Fine. I'll leave."

"Go then."

"I won't be coming back for a while."

"Then why are you wasting your time here?"

Alfred heard Arthur get up. Fresh tears welled in his eyes, tracing down his cheeks.

He began to sing the song again, to the quiet room.

It would be tough, the next few months. He'd be all alone, just a small kid against the world.

"I hate you, England," he murmured.

* * *

 _ **Hollo! Some people have been asking, and the song is Early One Morning (It's an English classic, but I've wrote the story based on the version by Jim Moray. You can find the song here; watch?v=OcCfAfDWAug )**_

 _ **I only posted the first chapter last night, and people have already read it?! Idk, anyway, I'm sorry the chapters are so short, the first few ones will be, but the length will progress throughout the 'fic.**_

 _ **Thanks for being here to read this, I know a lot of people skip the author's notes :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

Everything was quiet in the house. There was no one there to comfort Alfred when he had nightmares.

No one there to prepare his meals.

No one to care for him.

So what? He could live off fast food, no problem! He didn't need stupid Arthur to care for him. He didn't need to be comforted.

There was a crack of lightning, and Alfred jumped.

As Arthur would have said, it was chucking it down outside. Alfred pulled the window shut, rolling under his bed.

Lightning was scary. If only there was someone to...

 _No_ , he thought to himself, _I'm going to show England that I can do fine without him. He'll see._

 _BAM!_

Alfred whimpered and pulled his knees up to his chest.

* * *

Arthur strode out of the house, heading down the road. He didn't want to leave Alfred on his own, but he had no choice. Francis was acting up again, and he needed to make sure Matthew was stable, before debating with Antonio about something... he couldn't remember what it was.

It began to thunder, and he winced. Alfred would be terrified, no doubt. But Arthur was already running late, and he had to hurry.

Running down the road, he cursed at the puddles that were appearing, growing larger and larger the further he ran.

Eventually, he saw the sea, and his boat. Soon, he'd be dry and safe. The seas couldn't harm him - he was England, for God's sake! He _owned_ them!

Arthur hoped that Alfred would be okay. He didn't want anything to happen to him, but he had absolutely no spare time, he definitely wouldn't be able to visit.

* * *

 _KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK._

Alfred woke up. The storm must have passed hours ago. He rubbed his eyes. Arthur would be long gone by now. Who on Earth could be at the door? It was late evening. Surely anyone with sense would be settling in for the night.

He rolled out from under his bed and ran to answer the door, flinging it open to see a man of Arthur's age, with shoulder-length blond hair and a sparkling sense of style.

" _Bonjour, mon ami_ ," the man raised his hat.

"Who are you?" Alfred tilted his head to one side.

"I am the great Francis Bonnefoy, or France, as you shall call me. I am a... friend... of England's, and have heard many a tale about you, America."

"Um-"

"I heard of you recent squabbles," Francis continued, stepping inside the house and slamming the door behind him, "Do you hate England?"

"Hate?" Alfred gasped, "Well, I-I don't, uh..."

He looked up at Francis. He felt the anger swelling inside him, the betrayal and sadness, the loneliness and fear of neglect.

"I do."

"Well then," Francis grinned from ear to ear, "You've found the right man, little America."

"I thought you said you were friends with England," Alfred crossed his arms.

" _Old_ friends, little one," Francis flicked his hair to the side.

"B-but what are we going to do, France?"  
Francis' smile suddenly seemed cold and malicious. Alfred froze.

"You're going to become independent, dear America."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry I haven't been active lately with this story. I may have been focusing on another ongoing story on my wattpad... oops.**

 **Here's the next chapter. It may seem a bit short, but short and snappy is the way to go! Right...?**

"So you hold it like this," Francis said, holding the musket out to show Alfred.

"Right," Alfred nodded, "But why would I need it?"

"Ah, England won't appreciate you trying to leave him," Francis said gravely, "He'll probably fight back."

"Fight?" Alfred gasped.

"You shall be at war with him, of course," Francis continued, passing the musket over to Alfred. His stomach churned.

Did he really want this?

"F-France–"

"I shall be off now," he smiled, heading to the door, "Remember to position your fingers more to the left when holding a long rifle. It improves the shot."

He strode out, and the door shut behind him. Alfred stared down at the weapons in front of him. Suppose Arthur came home early and found him with these? What would he think?

There was a small thud, and Alfred jumped.

"Francis?" he called, running towards the door.

Instead of Francis, there was a crisp white envelope on the doormat. Alfred frowned and picked it up.

He tore it open to find a short letter that said;

 _Dear America,_

 _I'm missing you already! It's probably very lonely, over where you are. I'm borrowing some of your money. I'll return it eventually, of course. I'll also have to stop you from producing anything for a while, as my resources are getting low. Damn Spain is trying to start a fight, I can tell, so I'll be away for longer than expected. Apologies._

 _England_

"Who does he think he is, taking _my_ money?" Alfred growled, throwing the letter on the ground.

Silence.

"If I become independent," he murmured to the letter, "I won't have to deal with this bull, will I?"

He shook his head, and grabbed a sheet of paper and a quill from his desk, beginning to write.

 _England,_

 _Leave me alone! I'm sick and tired of you trying to control me all the time. You know what? I'll just become my_ own _country. I'll stop relying on you. All you're doing is using me to make yourself greater. But what if I'm gone? How will you cope?_

 _America_

He folded the letter into an envelope, and ran outside, shoving it into his mailbox.

What could he change? What could be a sign of his independence? His flag?"

Alfred ran back inside, grabbing his flag off the wall.

He stared at it. What could be changed about a flag?

Grabbing a navy marker, Alfred scribbled over the British flag in the corner.

It was dull.

He picked up a pot of white ink that had been given to him a while ago, and painted stars over the navy, like the sky at night. Fifty stars.

"There."


	5. Chapter 5

England stared at the messy letter in his hands. It had angry ink stains all over it, but he could still make out what it said.

 _England,_

 _Let's finish this._

 _America_

when he finished, he dropped it and watched it fly off into the wind.

England felt dizzy; Almost as if he was going to faint. Sitting down on the floor of his own empty house, he sighed shakily.

"Don't do this, Alfred," he murmured.

Come to think of it, the last few times he had visited, even though these visits were very brief compared to the time spent together when he was younger, he had seemed rather off...

His boss rushed into the room.

"America's attacking sir, with the aid of France!" he yelled, "You need to act now!"

England swallowed and rose to his feet.

"Very well," he nodded, pulling out his red coat, "If it's a war he wants, a war he'll get."

"Are you ready, Alfred?" France asked, patting America on the back.

He nodded silently.

Over the past few weeks he had shot up, and now resembled a teen. scars from messing up when using weapons marked his arms, and he looked almost broken.

"You know where you're to fight, right?" his companion murmured, "I'm not going to be able to help you this time."

"I know," America said dully.

"I do think chucking his tea in the harbour was a good idea, even for you," France chuckled to himself, and America smiled grimly.

"Well, you should be setting off now," the French one decided, handing him a long rifle, "Your troops should meet you there, right?"

"Right."

"Uh, good look, _mon ami_ , and make sure you kick his ass for me, alright?"

America nodded, walking off down the paths.

A few hours later, when he finally reached the battleground, he felt a surge of adrenaline course through his veins.

This was it.

What he had wanted for so long.

And it was in his grasp.

He looked towards the sunset and saw his troops marching in, holding flags and guns. His heart soared with pride.

looking in the opposite direction, however, he saw the redcoats, marching in with just as many weapons.

And the one at the front was England himself.

Five minutes later, everyone was together, staring at each other in pure hate, awaiting the signal to fight.

America scanned the crowds and spotted England again, stepping out to the front, turning to look at him.

"For Britian!" he yelled, holding his rifle high.

"For the empire!" the redcoats yelled.

"For America!" America cried out.

"For our land and freedom!" the troops screamed.

"Charge!" England and America roared at the same time.

America ran through the bustling scene, finding England and aiming at him. England dodged and pulled out a pocket knife, preparing to go close-range.

"Alfred," he pleaded, "stop this nonsense."

"Don't call me that," America hissed, firing again. England tried to dodge but a bullet clipped his shoulder and he screamed, falling to the ground. Troops ran past in large groups and America lost sight of him.

One by one, the redcoats began to disappear, until they were either dead or retreating.

America stared at the carnage around him. So few of his troops had died, and he was left unscathed.

Then, one redcoat rose from under a pile of bodies. He was stained in mud and blood as he stumbled forward in front of the army before him.

"I'm no longer your child, nor your little brother," America said, staring at his father figure, "I'll become independent from you from now onwards!"

They stared at each other, and England ran forwards.

"Never!" he yelled, and their rifles clashed.

"Fire!" the American troops yelled, and they heard guns cocking.

England stared at them, lowering his gun.

"But there's no way I could shoot you, is there?"

He sank to his knees, head in hands, sobbing.

"You were so great..." America murmured, "what happened?"

"I lost you," England sniffed, as the American troops began to retreat.

America stared at England once more, before turning to leave.

 **Heyyo! so, this fic isn't over, there's still one chapter left... But that's all the history stuff. please leave feedback!**


	6. Chapter 6 END

**PRESENT DAY**

Arthur sat down at his desk. He had forgotten to finish that huge pile of work and accidentally left it until the last minute. Whoops.

Now he had approximately five hours to finish it.

Suddenly, a sweet and familiar tune wafted into his ears, and he froze.

" _Early one mo-o-rning_

 _Just as the sun was ri-i-sing,_

 _I heard a maiden ca-all from the va-a-ley below_."

He ran to his window and looked out to see a familiar figure in his garden, singing quietly.

"What is he doing here?" Arthur muttered to himself.

He sprinted down his stairs as fast as his legs would take him, running through the house to his hall.

When he reached the door, he opened it quietly and snuck outside. Alfred hadn't noticed.

When he finished singing, he started to hum quietly, and that's when Arthur opened his mouth.

" _As green as the ga-a-rden_

 _And fresh are the roses,_

 _fresh from the garden_

 _to wi-ind on your path_."

Alfred spun around Arthur sang the final part, arms open.

" _Oh, don't deceive me,_

 _Oh, never leave me,_

 _Ho-ow could you u-use a po-or maiden so_?"

Alfred stared at him for a second, before running into his friend's arms.

"You never taught me that last verse," Alfred laughed into Arthur's shoulder.

"I didn't think you'd care, to be honest," Arthur smiled.

"Are you kidding me? I loved to hear you sing when I was a child!"

They looked at each other and giggled.

"Just, don't leave me ever again, okay?" Arthur murmured.

"Alright, poor maiden," Alfred laughed.

"Take that back, America!" Arthur protested, pushing away from him.

"Whatever, Iggybrows," Alfred shrugged, "should we go inside?"

"Yeah," the Englishman sighed, and the two stepped into the house.

 **Idk what they're gonna do inside... You can leave it to your imagination tho ;)**

 **Actually don't.**

 **So they couldn't really mend their friendship completely after the revolution - there will always be pieces missing - but isn't it better this way?**


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